


Being Alive

by edibleflowers



Series: Putting It Together [6]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 16:50:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2659322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve catches up on what he's been missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being Alive

**Author's Note:**

> I began writing this well before Captain America: the Winter Soldier came out (not to mention prior to Iron Man 3), so it's non-canonical to, well, pretty much anything after the Avengers. For a variety of personal reasons, I have had trouble finishing the writing of this part in particular. Thank goodness it's the last. I hope it is worth the wait.
> 
> This fic completes this series.

Steve Rogers is not an oblivious person by any means -- which is why, in retrospect, he's astonished at how long it takes him to realize what's been going on in his absence.

A month and a half on the road, stopping in DC to pay his respects to the men he knew and lost now buried under the white lawn of crosses in Arlington (and damn it if he didn't still feel a tightness in his throat when he saw James Buchanan Barnes's name there), then moving on to explore a little of the America he'd missed while asleep under the ice: it had felt good, like the world might be worth seeing after all. Technology might have changed, fashion's pushed far forward, kids look a lot older than they used to -- but people are still basically the same when he talks and shakes hands and smiles.

Fury (or more likely an assistant, Steve suspects) sends him updates on a regular basis to keep him informed. Steve's sure it's to track his progress, too, but when he sees the text that Stark Tower is fully functional again and most of the team has moved in, he decides it's time to start back. He knows Tony doesn't plan on spending all his time there -- the man still has a house and a business out in Malibu, even if Ms. Potts is the one running the company now -- and he wants to try and spend a little time with the others before the next big crisis comes to slam them in the face.

As a matter of fact, it turns out a few crises have come along in his absence, but nothing the team couldn't handle without him. Thor's back from Asgard again and apparently settled on Earth for a time -- long enough (as Steve hears upon his return) to get into a tiff with Jane Foster over the fact that he didn't get a chance to see her when he was there before, seeking the Tesseract and fighting the Chitauri. Clint and Natasha, both seeming well recovered from their battle wounds, have also taken up occupancy, eschewing their barracks in SHIELD headquarters (or wherever in the world they live) for something a little more luxurious; Bruce, too, has his own apartment in the tower, as well as a lab all his own. And when Steve drives into the parking garage below the tower, he's touched to see a parking space marked for him with the pattern of his shield. 

Tony, naturally, throws a big party that evening to celebrate Steve's homecoming. Steve's protests fall on deaf ears, of course; it's not as if he's been gone for years, nor as if he hadn't planned on returning. Still, it's good to see everyone, to be welcomed back -- and even if he can't get drunk, he can raise a glass with all of them and laugh at Clint's corny jokes. For the first time in longer than he'd care to think about, he feels as if he belongs somewhere.

He settles in. It's not the world's most difficult challenge, though the sheer amount of space he has still throws him for a loop -- especially when he gets up in the morning to stumble across an acre of soft plush carpet to the bathroom. Before long, a routine emerges: waking at five, he takes the elevator down to the gym (which would seem a ridiculous luxury if not for the amount of unwanted attention he's received while trying to jog on the streets or in Central Park), goes through a modest workout, showers, has breakfast. Sometimes there's a thing to investigate, sometimes Maria Hill has plans for him (her plans, thankfully, tend to involve cutting ribbons and meeting veterans, rather than the sexual activities about which Tony likes to speculate). Twice, the group gets called on for big emergencies -- once in the middle of the night, once on a lazy Sunday afternoon -- and Steve feels that thrill again, the one he felt in the heat of battle in Midtown, of having five people at his back, five competent and clever and jaw-droppingly strong teammates who know their work and do it well. Tony's designed unstable-molecule shorts for Bruce so that when he Hulks out, he won't be naked afterward; Hawkeye and Black Widow seem to have some kind of seamless telepathy going on; Thor channels lightning to feed it to Iron Man when a localized EMP shorts out his armor, keeping him in the fight. He may loathe the ideologies of the people they're fighting, hate the way they hurt innocent bystanders -- but he can do something about that, and he's got a great group backing him up.

And then he finds out they're all sleeping together.

For weeks, he'd played off the casual flirting and touching he'd been seeing between the others as innocent. It happened during the war; people got close real fast while being put through life-or-death situations. He'd never cared. What men and women did in their off time was their own business. And he'd sort of suspected something was going on with Clint and Natasha anyway: there was some deep history there, though he'd never felt easy about inquiring.

It all changes one afternoon while he's sparring with Natasha in the gym. When she first challenged him, he'd tried to politely decline, found there was no really good way to tell her that he didn't feel comfortable fighting a lady, and ended up with his face in the mat when he'd held his punches in the first round. After that, he'd decided not to hold back; her grin told him he needn't have bothered in the first place. Natasha is wily and wiry, skilled in forms of unarmed fighting he's never seen, and he watches and learns even while she flips him again and again, coming in under his defenses while he's looking the wrong way. She's _good_. 

He is too, though: the serum did a lot for him physically, but it helped him mentally, too, and he can learn by observation: enough so that at last he manages to dodge one of her holds and even slips an arm around her to put her to the mat. She springs up with a laugh, pleasure at his success in her eyes.

"One more, Cap?" she offers. 

"She'll take you down again, you don't watch out," Tony calls, with a wicked laugh. He's off to the side, his hands wrapped, idly working a punching bag; this time of afternoon, it seems most of them have worked a couple hours in the gym into their day. Thor and Clint just came in from a jog, laughing and heading for the shower; of them all, only Bruce doesn't work out regularly, though Steve's seen him doing yoga.

"Yeah, I don't think so. Tempting though the offer is." Steve gives Natasha a smile and a nod; her smile in return is wry. "Thanks, though, I've gotta start learning some of that stuff. Think I'm gonna spend some time on the bag," he decides, and turns to head for the locker room, where he'd left his bag with the tape for his hands. He's almost there when he hears Tony from behind him.

"Steve, hey," he calls. "I've got some tape here, you don't need to--"

Confused, Steve shakes his head; he's already at the locker room door. "I'm good, thanks," he replies, and pushes into the room.

The shower bay is separated from the locker room only by an open entranceway, so Steve hears the loud sound of the spray at once; Thor and Clint, no doubt showering after their run. As he pulls open the door of his locker to get into his bag, a moan ripples out from the showers, startling him. The sound is raw; somehow, Steve can tell, it's more than just a reaction to the pleasant feeling of warm water on sore muscles. He jerks back, the roll of tape in hand, as another low groan echoes the first. Two different voices -- and more, now that he's hearing it, the slap of flesh, a heated mewl, another gasp: "Ah, fuck, _Thor_ ," in Clint's distinct growl. Oh, God, how had he not realized what they were in here for, why they were taking so long--

The door to the gym opens again, and he sees Tony, surprisingly red-faced. Suddenly, he doesn't want to be near any of them. He drops the tape back in his gym bag and slams the locker door, shoulders past Tony into the gym again. Natasha's there, too, looking chastened, her eyelids lowered. "Steve--" she starts, and then Tony emerges behind him, catching his arm. He yanks it away on principle.

"What the hell have you all been hiding from me?" he asks, because it's clear, now; Natasha's watching Tony, and hell, _she's_ blushing too. He hadn't thought it possible.

"Steve, we-- we--" she tries again. She's actually stammering.

Clearly annoyed, Tony breaks in. "We've all been fucking," he says, and, whether from the blunt language or the revelation of their activities, Steve takes a step back. "All five of us. While you were gone, and since you've been back."

"I'm sorry," Natasha says, more composed now. "We shouldn't have kept it from you, obviously, but--"

"You didn't want me to know." Steve rubs a hand over his mouth, still processing. So much he's seen and yet hasn't seen. Casual touching, easy flirting: Natasha walking behind Thor on the couch and running her hand over his hair, the way Thor's eyes had closed briefly, catlike. Clint and Tony's secret smiles. Bruce's eyes lingering on Natasha-- He inhales hard. "You didn't think -- you -- you thought I'd be _bothered_?" he manages at last.

Tony's chin is up, defiant. "Things have changed a lot since you had your nap, the way... the way people conduct relationships, all of it. And we didn't want you to feel weird about being around us."

The shock that goes through Steve leaves him numb. He opens his mouth, closes it again. When Natasha takes a step toward him, her hand out, he pulls back before she can touch him. "No," he says. "You thought poor sheltered Steve might _freak out_. Admit it," he says, turning on Tony, whose eyes flash. "Tell the truth. Sweet little old-fashioned Steve, he blushes at women in ads on TV, he might blow a gasket if someone even mentions--" Inhaling, he spits the letters in a scandalized stage whisper. "S. E. X! Oh no, let's hide it all from him, he might not be able to _handle_ it!"

He's shaking with anger now, and he turns away from both of them to head for the elevator. Behind him, he can hear Natasha apologizing, Tony muttering something about excusing the hell out of him, and he hits the button with a bit more force than necessary.

"Steve," Tony calls, and Steve turns again.

"Don't even," he says. "You people, I just. You think your generation invented sex or something? We were going to war, we all thought we were going out there to die, and you think no one was desperate for just a second of joy in the middle of oblivion--" He can't help shaking his head as the elevator doors open behind him. "I may have just stepped out of the forties, but you have no idea what that really means."

He takes a step back, waiting for the doors to close before sagging against the back rail. After a moment, he remembers to tell Jarvis to bring him to his floor, and he rubs his face. Adrenaline's still racing through his system, both from the sparring session and the argument. Right now, he wishes he was still out on his bike, or in his Brooklyn apartment, at the old boxing gym: anywhere but Avengers Tower.

* * *

A hot shower helps him feel slightly more human. He fights the urge to think about the others, though as he scrubs himself he can't help but recall the sounds from the gym shower, Clint's gasps, Thor's moans. He grits his teeth and bends his head to let the water pound the back of his neck.

Afterward, he's pulling on some lazy clothes -- a t-shirt, sweats -- when he hears a knock at his door. He's tempted to ignore it, but instead he inhales and goes to answer it. Can't be worse than riding a motorcycle right into HYDRA headquarters.

Somehow, Steve isn't surprised to see Tony at the door. What does surprise him is the genuinely contrite look on Tony's face.

"I'm sorry," Tony says without hesitation. "It was wrong of us to keep what's been happening from you. I should have realized you're a mature human being who's capable of making a decision on your own."

Taken aback, Steve tilts his head. "OK?"

Tony lets out a breath. "And if you want, we'd -- well, OK, I can't speak for the others, but I personally would be _thrilled_ to have you join us. You don't have to, obviously, it's not--"

"Tony," Steve says, to cut the babble off before it gets any worse. For lack of a better idea, he reaches for Tony to pull him into the room, then shuts the door behind him. "I need to sit down for this," he says. "You want some water? I need some water."

"Water's good," Tony says, making a beeline for the couch in the main room. Steve goes into his kitchenette, pouring a glass of water for himself from the tap and then reaching into the fridge for a bottle for Tony.

Once he's seated on the chair across from Tony, having taken a long drink of the cool water (and having watched Tony wince at him; Tony refuses to drink from the tap, as if what's in the bottle is better because it has a pretty label), he eyes Tony. "So," he says. "You're all sleeping together."

"Not all of us," Tony clarifies. "Bruce, uh, Bruce is annoyingly straight, so the only one he's been with is Natasha. But the rest... pretty much, if we've had an opportunity and both parties were into it, yeah." His head tilts, dark eyes glittering, birdlike. "You OK with all that?"

"Sure," Steve replies, almost absent. He doesn't see the whole fuss over what people do in their own bedrooms, as long as everyone involved is consenting and of age. This situation: well, they're his teammates, people he knows personally -- but he respects and admires them all, so he can't find it in him to disapprove. "I mean, hell," he adds, and reaches for his water to take another drink. "It's not like I haven't been attracted, too."

He's timed it perfectly: Tony's near spit-take in response is a thing of beauty. "You-- what--" he sputters when he's managed to swallow at last.

"Well, it's not like we've had the time to sit and talk about it," Steve says, wry now, as Tony rubs the back of his hand over his mouth.

"Shit," Tony says, heartfelt. Steve smiles wider than he really has a right to.

"Did you mean that?" he asks. "Before, I mean," he adds when Tony's head tips in confusion. "That I was welcome to join in."

"You have to ask? --No, nevermind," Tony interrupts himself. "Stupid thing to say, obviously communication is key-- _Yes_ ," he finishes. Steve takes note of the glint in his eyes, the slight fear and hope Tony's clearly trying not to convey. "Yes, on behalf of the others--"

Steve doesn't let him finish. He pushes in, putting his water glass down to free his hands so that he can cup Tony's face in his palms. Stubble burrs a delicious friction on his calloused skin; better still is the way Tony inhales, stunned into a moment of shocked stillness -- and then kisses him back.

"You've done this before," Tony says when the kiss ends, panting, his forehead pressed to Steve's.

"You tour the country with a hundred USO dancers and see how good you get at kissing," Steve grins. "Among other things."

"Do I get to see these other things?" The hopeful note is clear in Tony's voice this time. By way of answer, Steve stands, his hands firm on Tony's hips, and goes back to kissing him again as he starts backwards for the bedroom.

* * *

A million years ago, it seems like, Steve told Peggy Carter he was waiting for the right partner to dance with. He still thinks she would have been the perfect one; that chance is gone now, though, and there's no use regretting it. At the same time, he's come to realize that he can't wait forever. More than ever, these days, he knows just how short life is and how swiftly opportunities can disappear. And there's no denying that he's thought of something like this more than once.

Even so, he has to take a moment when he pulls Tony's t-shirt up and sees the circle of light there, the arc reactor illuminating both of them with its soft blue glow. Tony's breath catches, but Steve leans in and kisses him again, his fingers tracing the round edge of the casing. Tony seems to sag a little toward him, then brushes Steve's hand out of his way so that he can drag the hem of Steve's shirt up.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters once Steve shrugs out of it. 

"Nothing that didn't come out of a bottle," Steve replies, and Tony pulls back for a moment, eyebrows narrowed. Then he grins, because Steve is smiling too, and grabs him by the nape for a hard kiss.

"Hot _and_ a smartass," Tony says, going for Steve's waistband. "I might have to tie you up and keep you-- _oh_ ," he adds, his smile turning sly when Steve inhales sharply. "It's like that, is it?"

"S-sometimes," Steve manages. "I think about things like that-- sometimes..."

"Gonna keep it simple this time." Tony grins and kisses Steve, hard, stubble scraping Steve's chin, while his hands deftly finish undoing the tie at Steve's waist and then push his sweats down. "Tell me what you've done before," he adds, nonchalantly sliding a palm over the distended front of Steve's boxers.

Steve puffs out a shocked breath and has to suck in air before he can answer. "I -- I, ahh, nice... uh, I've done h-handjobs and stuff, mostly, and blowjobs once or twice. And I've been fucked," he adds, casually enough that Tony's hand stutters in its easy rhythm. Tony's sudden laugh is raw.

"Right, I'm done underestimating you, Rogers," he says.

"Good," Steve says, and pulls Tony back onto the bed. "Because I want you to fuck me now, and I'm not taking no for an answer."

"Yes sir, Captain America," and while Tony grins at his own comment, Steve takes the opportunity to strip Tony's pants off.

For all his bravado, it's something of a relief for Steve when Tony takes over, pushing him back to the bed, nudging him so that he falls back and then climbing over him. They're both naked now, warm overhead lights illuminating every detail Steve's never been able to take in during furtive night-time encounters: Tony's lean muscled form, his narrow hips and coiled-tense thighs. When Tony climbs over him, Steve goes for it, hands sliding down Tony's back to grasp at his behind. 

"Jesus!" Tony gasps, pulling back from the kiss to give a startled laugh. "Grab my ass, why don't you?"

"OK," Steve says agreeably, and squeezes again. His dick is hard, twitching against his belly, and when Tony lowers himself over Steve again for another urgent kiss, Steve groans into Tony's mouth. The smooth-hot-silk friction of Tony's prick against his is nearly enough to set Steve off all by itself. He doesn't think he's ever felt anything so intense before--

Then Tony's long, capable fingers slip between them and circle both of their erections in a tight fist, and Steve loses all capability for higher thought. His hand fastens on Tony's ass, the other hand at Tony's nape to keep that hungry mouth on his own, and oh Christ in heaven and all the saints it's happening, he's _coming_ \--

He whites out for a long moment, gasping for air, holding on to Tony like it's all he can do. Right now, he feels like it is all he can do. As he drifts back to himself, he feels Tony resting over him, hears a low chuckle, and blinks up into warm dark eyes.

"Been a while, huh?" Any other time, Steve would think Tony is making fun of him. But now the teasing feels affectionate, and Steve lets his head drop back and laughs, too.

"Not that long, unless you're not counting -- going solo," he says. When Tony's face registers confusion, Steve holds up an illustrative curled hand, and Tony breaks into a grin.

"You come up with the best euphemisms," Tony mutters against his mouth. He's still hard -- Steve feels with a jolt of pleasure that full line of heat against his lower belly, slick now with his own come -- and he swallows hard, hands stroking down the line of Tony's spine.

"If you're not too close," he says, hoarse, "I'd really like it if you -- if you screwed me."

Tony's eyebrow goes up, but only a little this time, and this time his grin is slow and wide. "I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

This is new, too: Steve sprawls on his back and watches Tony, slender and strong and a little ridiculous with his prick bouncing hard in the air between them, slicking up his fingers with a clear gel sort of stuff. Steve closes his eyes and draws in a breath, but Tony's first touch is warm and slick, anything but painful. 

"Not that I think I _can_ hurt you, but just in case, you tell me, all right?" Tony says. He leans over Steve, the warmth of him palpable, his mouth close to Steve's ear to make him shiver with each word. Steve nods, carefully lets out the breath he'd been holding. And the pressure isn't bad -- isn't bad, hell, it's _good_ , Steve keens and reaches up to hold on to Tony's shoulder.

"Good," he says, when Tony pauses in concern. "Don't stop."

"Whoever you did this with before," Tony begins, almost off-handedly, "they didn't hurt you, did they--?"

"No." Steve draws in another breath, lets it out, his eyes meeting Tony's dark gaze. "Just-- everything was different. Had to be fast, couldn't take the time..."

Tony nods a little and leans in for another kiss. As his tongue explores deep in Steve's mouth, his finger glides deep too, and Steve cries out in sudden, astonished pleasure. Encouraged, Tony draws back and does something, and now the pressure is more, thicker, and Steve's hips are curving up to try and get more of that heat in him, those wicked fingers moving in him, working and twisting and soothing, both not enough and too much at the same time. He needs it, he _needs_ it...

"Gonna get it, I promise," Tony mutters into his mouth, and Steve realizes he's been saying it out loud, not just in his head. He manages a weak laugh and pulls Tony down for another kiss, searching, his tongue driving against Tony's now.

"Any fucking time you're ready, Stark," he tells him; to make his point, he skims a hand down Tony's belly -- hairy, nice, just a little slick with sweat and Steve's earlier release -- and closes his hand on Tony's stiff cock. Tony makes a strangled sound like all the air just got sucked out of his lungs. He also, thank Christ, pulls his fingers back and finds one of the condoms he pulled out of the nightstand. Greedy, yearning, Steve barely waits for Tony to finish rolling it on before he grabs his hips and pulls him closer.

One of Tony's hands slips between their bellies to line himself up, but Tony's not looking down there; his eyes, gone pure black with want, are fixed on Steve's. Steve can't seem to look anywhere else either, can't escape the hunger in Tony's eyes. It keeps him steady when he feels Tony's cock breaching him, pushing in, entering him. Yeah, he'd done this before, but it was so long ago that the experience is dim memory: certainly nothing as powerful, as immediate and intimate, as this sweet moment, Tony in him, taking him. Filling him. Tony's arms hold him up, but there's still barely a breath of air between their sweating bodies, and the glow of his arc reactor spills over Steve's chest, a cool blue light in the warm room.

"OK?" Tony's voice is hoarse, the slightest glint of worry in his eyes. Steve spreads his legs and flattens his feet to give himself purchase so he can push up and meet Tony's steady push. Both of them groan when Tony sinks as deep as he can into Steve. 

Steve swallows hard and manages a challenging smile. "Could be better, maybe you could try movin' a little..?"

That gets an answering grin from Tony, the corner of his mouth quirked up, and he drops his head to find Steve's mouth for another kiss as his hips begin to work in earnest now. "Gonna regret you said that," he murmurs, licking at Steve's lower lip, but Steve's pretty sure he's not.

He doesn't, either, though he does come close at one point. Tony's nothing if not considerate, taking his time with maddening, delicious, slow thrusts until Steve gasps for more; he rests his weight on one elbow and gathers Steve's renewed erection in his other hand to stroke him in time with each push; he sucks at Steve's neck until Steve is sure he'll have to wear a turtleneck in the morning. A turtleneck, he can't believe he's thinking about that when Tony Stark is fucking him senseless -- that must be why, his brains are coming out, Tony's hitting that spot, that perfect place inside him that makes pleasure burn and burst white-hot through him, again and again until Steve can't do anything but let go, spurting in Tony's fist, his hands hard on Tony's back to keep him there and feel him as Tony comes only moments later in a series of rough thrusts and then slumps on him, gasping.

Neither of them speak at first. Steve's head is back so he can suck in air, and he can hear Tony breathing harshly against his chest, can feel his back lifting as his lungs fill. His head is spinning; he thinks he might have just seen God.

"Wow," Tony says at last, and rolls himself off of Steve. Though Steve feels a little loss at the separation, he's also sweating hard and the cool air is delicious on his skin. He pushes to his side to watch Tony, who's flat on his back, blinking up at the ceiling.

"Wow is right," Steve replies. He's not sure what else to say; he's feeling heavy and sleepy already, and he can't read Tony's expression. After a moment, Tony's head turns toward him, a soft smile Steve isn't used to seeing on his face. It's... sweet, Steve thinks, and can't help a smile of his own in response. 

"So," Tony says, "that happened." It's so easily spoken, so typically Tony, that Steve chuckles in automatic, ingrained reply.

"Sure did," he says -- and then, because he can't help himself: "What happens next?"

"That's up to you, Cap."

"Steve," Steve says, and Tony's eyebrow goes up. Steve swallows. "I'm not in charge here, I'm not... Captain America... here."

"OK," Tony says, softer. "Steve. It's up to you, really."

"So I can do this?" Steve asks, and gathers Tony in against him. It's what he wants, what he needs right now: the physical contact, the warmth of post-coital Tony pressed to his skin. Tony lets out a breath Steve wasn't sure he knew he was holding in and nods.

"Yeah," Tony says. "You can."

They go quiet for a little while: a comfortable, easy silence, the kind that they've never been able to find before. Tony's eyes drift shut, his back warm against Steve's chest, his hand trailing a soft line along the strong bones of Steve's arm.

"When I said what happens next," Steve asks before the silence gets too heavy, "I meant, you know. After today."

"That's up to you, too," Tony murmurs. "I obviously, uh, would be completely all for this happening again--"

"Me too," Steve says quietly, and presses a kiss to Tony's neck to feel him shiver.

"And I won't talk to you or act any differently than before."

"You'll respect me in the morning, is what you're saying."

Tony laughs in spite of himself, turns a little to look up at Steve again. "That, yeah."

"OK." Steve cranes his neck forward so that he can kiss Tony's lips, soft, the goatee a tickly brush on his own skin. "Then we'll just go from there."


End file.
